


The Makings of a Habit

by Kitsu



Series: Three Times' a Habit [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Fucking on a desk, Fucking on the floor, Hair-pulling, M/M, Porn, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 06:52:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5818375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsu/pseuds/Kitsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vane's managed to pull Flint out of his drunken stupor. Now they're on their way to settle things in Nassau, after hearing about Rackham obtaining the Urca's gold. Vane sees an opportunity to get something he wants as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Makings of a Habit

**Author's Note:**

> Season 3's time-skip start afforded me some more room to play with this. It's basically smut written for smut's sake, with some plot that elbowed its way in when I wasn't looking.
> 
> Writing-playlist:  
> Deathstars - Babylon (Underworld Lounge Remix)  
> Depeche Mode - I Feel You (Throb Mix)  
> Genitorturers - Lecher Bitch  
> Lord of the Lost - Sex on Legs  
> Puscifer - REV 22-20  
> Sakurai Atsushi - X-Lover

It had worked, _somehow,_ Vane realised, when the very next day, still on route to Tortuga, Flint finally showed his face on deck. He didn’t say much, but at least it was confirmed that he hadn’t just up and died in his quarters. The crews, both of them, instantly became abuzz with hushed whispers - none too certain of their standing with the Captain after what had transpired, none too certain of what came next. After a moment’s hesitation, Billy Bones walked over to the Old Man, speaking something in his ear. Something similar to a smile crossed Flint’s face, the first in a long while. It was brief, but it was there. Flint continued his round, talking to some of his men. Joji, Muldoon, De Groot, others Vane didn’t know the names of. They all answered quickly, before promptly returning to their work.

Flint wandered in Vane’s direction. When he passed by where Vane was leaning against the gunwale, pretending not to be watching Flint’s every move, only silence followed. A strange thing it was, almost comfortable. _Almost._

\-----

Their stay in Tortuga was made short. Everyone, even the sailors, wanted to go ‘home’ - back to Nassau. They re-fitted, talked to a few informants, gathered some gossip, then went on their way.

Eleanor had been arrested, Vane learned. Shipped back to England, most likely to hang.

The thought stung. It shouldn’t have. It still did. He needed to forget. _Bury her._

\-----

A day out of Tortuga, south of Inagua, Flint stormed out of the Captain’s quarters, positively fuming. He spoke a few curt words to Billy Bones, but didn’t say a word to anyone else, simply climbing up on to the quarterdeck, to stand by the gunwale, staring out across the water’s choppy  surface. The look on his face changed subtly over the next few minutes, from rage to something akin to defeat.

That wouldn’t do. Vane rose from the crate he’d been occupying, stretched, and silently stalked up to the quarterdeck, rum-bottle in hand. Leaning on the gunwale beside Flint, he eyed him sideways. “What?”

Flint stayed silent, studying Vane back, obviously churning something over in his mind. Vane could see the moment he decided to share whatever was eating at him.

“Silver’s awake, and he… He told me the _Urca_ ’s gold… It wasn’t retrieved by the Spanish. My _fucking_ scouts sold its location to another crew for a larger share in the stakes.”

 _Damn._ “Which one?” Vane wondered who would have to capacity to retrieve it, apart from Flint.

“Jack _fucking_ Rackham’s.” The pure hate tainting Flint’s voice was toxic.

Vane coughed violently, almost dropping his bottle into the ocean.  

“It’s most likely already been retrieved and brought to Nassau. Who knows what will meet us there now.” Ire tainted Flint’s features again, and Vane figured talking wouldn’t defuse the situation. He handed Flint the bottle, hoping drink - in reasonable amounts - would calm him the fuck down. Or knock him the fuck out.

Either way was good. They could both drink to forget.

\-----

Several days later, as they closed on Nassau, no-one could have guessed at what greeted them there. Anchored in the bay lay, amongst others, the _Colonial Dawn_ \- and to everyone’s great surprise the much recognisable _Walrus_. Which meant that most likely both Rackham and the gold were still present in Tortuga, waiting. The possibility seemed to calm Flint, though not completely.

Anchoring outside the range of the fort’s remaining guns, Flint called Vane to him, standing apart from the rest of the crew.

“The _Urca_ ’s gold was supposed to buy Nassau’s freedom. Now it is most likely here, in some form or other. Either being squandered by Rackham’s crew or hidden away somewhere. It needs to be secured. It needs to be safeguarded, not spent unwisely.”

“Go see him. Talk to Rackham. He is too smart for his own good, he might see your point.” If Vane could see it, Jack most certainly could. He had always been the reasonable of the pair.

“Come with me? Speak some sense into him.” It sounded more like and order than a question, but Vane heard the implied plea.

“You trust me?”

“No. But you shown me that you have the foresight to see what is coming and what needs to be done.”

\----

“Yes, we retrieved it,” Rackham confided. “Some were partitioned out as shares to the crew. Some paid to the merchants in town, to secure further trade now that the Guthries are gone.” Rackham looked Vane over, gauging his former Captain’s reaction. None came. “Most is safe. An enormous amount is safe.”

Flint seethed. It had been theirs, his and his crew’s. And Nassau’s.

“It was ours to collect,” he stated flatly. “We should take it back.”

“It was yours, and then you left. Didn’t figure you would ever come back, and we couldn’t just leave it for anyone to find. We know your plans, know you intended to use the gold to secure Nassau. We’re reasonable people, but we can’t just let you have it back…”

Before Rackham had even finished, Flint was on his feet, his fingers wrapped around the new-flung Captain’s throat. Bonny’s cutlasses were poking Flint in the ribs - however they didn’t cut skin. Vane’s blade was at her throat - in a deadly standoff of cold metal.

“Wait,” Rackham wheezed. “I’m sure we can come to an agreement that suits all our needs. Nassau’s needs.” He was flailing his hands the way only he could.

“What kind of agreement?” Flint relaxed his grip only enough for Rackham to be able to speak.

“I saw you sailing in on the Man o’ War, yeah? It has cannons, 94 of them, if I remember correctly. It's basically a floating fortress - exactly what Nassau needs right now. The Fort is in ruins, caused by you, none-the-less, leaving us mostly undefended. Leaving the gold undefended. Anyone with greater firepower could lay claim to it. We are rebuilding, but for now... Would you - for stakes in the gold and the return of the _Walrus_ \- agree to leave the Man o’ War anchored here, in Nassau’s defence? It is the reasonable solution. You do not have a large enough crew to man it properly, neither do any of us. However, you and your crew are familiar with the _Walrus_ , and you could hire more men to fill out your ranks quickly enough.” Jack was rambling and he knew it, however he hoped it would stave of the rabid Flint. He stopped abruptly, when Flint’s hold on his throat tightened, almost unperceivably.

The _Walrus_ was indeed more familiar, Flint reluctantly agreed. It felt nimbler in the waters than the great warship, quicker, more responsive. Sailing the Man o’ War with less able hands than actual fucking cannons on board had been far from ideal. However, to abandon it wasn’t his decision to make, not alone. This had to be voted on, for him to even think of retaining the captaincy. Depending on the vote, he would either have to take on many more men, men he would have to turn the minds of, or he could bring his remaining crew back on to the Walrus with only a few additions, and most likely leaving the warship hulked in Nassau Bay in the process.

Rackham mustered up the courage to continue. “You back on the _Walrus_ , raiding ships in our waters would be as much of a deterrent to anyone thinking of attacking this place as that ship lying in the bay.”

Flint seemed to consider something, before suddenly letting go and lowering his hand, Flint moved away from Rackham and Bonny. Turning on his heel, he made to leave the room. “I’ll think on it.”

Vane lowered his sword as well, eyeing Rackham. “He can protect us all. Offer him what he needs to do so. There is nothing as dangerous as man with only broken dreams and ideals left, and we need that danger to play in our favour.” He followed Flint out the door - not stopping to consider what this action of his really meant.

\----

Back on board the Man o’ War, Flint strode straight for his quarters. However, he left the door open behind him. Vane took it as an invitation and followed. The room was empty except for Flint - Silver obviously having evacuated somewhere else for the time being.

“Take him up on his offer,” Vane spoke. “You can’t keep sailing this ship with a skeleton crew - no matter how imposing she is. The _Walrus_ is the ship connected to your name, your banner. It is the one that strikes fear into the hearts of merchants. This is just too… Spanish. Too likely to make ships run instead of striking their colours. If you are to be the legend, the monster, you need your flagship. Leave the warship here. There’s enough men on the beach to man her cannons should anyone attack.”

“Why, Vane? Why are you trying to convince me?” _Trying to save me?_ “Why are you even here? You could leave now. You and your crew.” Flint had turned his back on Vane, staring out a gallery badge, up to the wrecked fort.

“Why… I don’t know.” He closed the door behind them, shutting out prying eyes and ears. “I’ve said it before, there’s nothing but the sea for me, especially now… However, I feel like the end of an era is drawing near. The age of pirates might coming to an end. I want that end postponed indefinitely. For that to be a possibility, we need a free Nassau. A safe haven. A home of sorts.” _Even with nothing left waiting for him there._

Flint turned back and walked around the captain’s desk, repositioned after their scuffle all those nights earlier, and sat down in his chair.

“What will you do when the crew’s voted?” The implied ‘there’s no room for you nor your crew here’ didn’t have to be spoken. Their paths were about to part again, at least for a while - there was too much bad blood between the two crews currently inhabiting the Man o’ War.

“I s’pose I’ll need to get a new ship. Something smaller, to accommodate my now much-depleted crew. Something fast. Saw a schooner in the bay I haven't seen before…” He smirked, and Flint knew it didn’t bode well for whoever owned that ship. Nor for himself - that grin had started to become distracting.

“Sit,” Flint ordered. “Wait here while I talk to the men. I’ll talk to you after, let you know.”

Vane sat down in the chair opposed opposed to Flint’s, crossing his legs. Leaning back, he pulled out one of his cigar and lit it. He couldn’t help having a long, good look at Flint’s backside as the man stood and left the room.

\-----

Flint returned some time later, with his crew’s fresh decision in mind. Returning to the Walrus it was. He felt relieved. Leaving the direct defence of Nassau in someone else’s hands would leave him some time to think. To regain his bearings, so to say. To figure out if he wanted to be more than the myth, or if that was truly all that was left of him.

Vane was still there. Still smoking.

“They voted for the _Walrus,_ ” Flint informed Vane. “That night - after Charles Town - was an…eyeopener,” Flint continued, words not coming to him as quickly, as easily as he wished for. He suddenly felt the need to acknowledge Vane’s part in his continued existence in some way.

“You’re welcome,” Vane drawled, slowly exhaling blue, thin cigar smoke.

“I wasn’t exactly thanking you.”

“You should be. You were losing your grip on reality. I fixed it.”

“Perhaps. Or maybe I just needed a knock on the head. No matter.” He paused, unsure how to continue.

“It could matter…,” Vane trailed off, puffing on the cigar, his words almost wistful. _Almost._

Flint ignored him, staring down onto some maps laid out in front of him. “It could, but this isn’t the time nor the place. Not for us men. This is the time for ruthless myths and monsters.”

Standing up, Vane stood as tall as Flint, cigar still between his lips, until he moved and stubbed it out in an empty glass standing on the desk.

“Seems our...relationship,” he nearly choked on the word, it having left a sour taste in his mouth every time he had to speak it the last few years, “is changing, whether we want it to or not, out of necessity and circumstance. I still hate your guts, you know. I still want to take everything from you. You’re infuriating, unrelenting, unreliable. But you see the truth of the future. After what we did, England **is** coming. Nassau is my home, as far as I’ve got one. I’ll stand with you in the coming war. For as long as it is necessary and furthers my own goals. I’ll play the monster along with yourself, I’ll make another name to stand between England and Nassau.”

“Do that. Become strong again, rebuild your crew stronger, make yourself a name that never dies. It is all that is needed, for now.”

Vane grinned then. “Not so sure about that. Pretty sure you need a good fuck as well.”

Flint coughed. Hard. That was unexpected. “You must be joking. This is not the time for such indulgences.”

“If not now, when? You’re switching ships, sailing out again soon, and I’ve got things to do. But they can wait an hour or so. It’s almost dark, anyway… Come tomorrow we’ll go our separate ways again - and I don’t like leaving thing half-done.”

Flint stood unmoving, unblinking, watching Vane with cold eyes. He waited. Waited for Vane to make the first move. Any move.

It came as a hand placed against the nape of his neck, undoing the tie holding his hair back, tangling in the longer strands. Then Vane moved even closer, pushing up against Flint, hesitating just a short moment before pressing his lips against his, nipping at the lower, trying to draw a reaction from Flint. When the response came, it came quickly and brutally. Flint's’ fist tangled in Vane’s shirt, bracing himself and kicking Vane’s feet from underneath him.They landed in a pile of arms and legs on the floor.

Scuffling somewhat, Vane ended up lying flush against the deck, Flint pinning him down.

“This is a one time thing. Because you want it, and I owe you. And because ‘tomorrow’ is an uncertain prospect,” Flint tried to reason.

“Oh, shut up,” Vane breathed. “You think too much.” Grinding up against Flint, he laughed. “Let’s fuck already.”

Flint caved, his body remembering their last tumble on the floor. _Fuck._ Two sets of hands pulled at fabric, undid buttons and buckles, casting belts and weapons aside. Flint’s shirt came off, pulled over his head by eager hands. Vane’s proved more of a challenge, caught between him and the floor, but enough force applied saw it gone.

Hands glided against bare skin, clawing, grasping, searching - desperate. Mouth found mouth, battling, enjoying, before moving on, drawing slick paths on sweaty skin, downward, until stopped by fabric. Flint’s hands did away with the fastenings of Vane’s trousers, peeling the fabric from his hips, willing it down and away. Gone.

Vane kicked off his boots, thrashed until all the offending fabric came loose enough to be discarded off as well. Naked, he felt Flint’s gaze on him, a cold burn. Predatory. Fuck, he wanted… Wanted him.

“Get the fuck on with it,” he demanded, reaching up, reaching out.

Flint resettled between his legs, dropped low - mirroring his actions from the other day. Wrapping his lips around Vane’s cock, he teased, taunted, tortured. Hands on Vane’s hips held hims still, forced his attention to be fully on the warmth surrounding him, sucking, pulling his pleasure from him.

Head tilted back, back arching up from the deck, Vane growled. His nails dug into the woodwork, driving splinters into skin. Fuck, Flint had a wicked mouth, relentless, unforgiving - like the man himself.

Vane came hard and fast, pushing away from the deck into Flint's mouth, not able to stop himself. Feeling Flint swallow around him, he was close to blacking out, totally spent. He breathed heavily, and watched Flint move through heavily lidded eyes.

Flint crept back up along Vane’s body, until face to face. “Will you let me fuck you?”

“You need to ask?” Vane growled. “Wouldn’t still be lying here if not. Go ahead.”

Flint growled then, a low rumbling reverberating throughout his torso. Standing up, he offered Vane a hand. “Over the desk.”

Vane lazily pulled himself up from the deck with Flint’s help and sauntered over to the desk. “Like this,” he asked, leaning across the surface, arse in the air.

“Fuck,” Flint breathed. He quickly opened a drawer in the desk and rummaged through it, producing a vial of oil. Placing it on the table for a moment, he undid the lacings of his trousers and pushing them down off his hips, moaning slightly as his cock came free of its restraints. Unstopping the oil vial, he poured the liquid into his palm, warming it up. Letting it trickle between his fingers, he watched it trail down Vane’s arse. Coating his fingers in the sticky substance, he let them slide down the curve of Vane’s arse, until he rubbed a thumb against his tight entrance, pushing past the outer muscle.

Vane huffed slightly, breath catching in his throat. Flint’s hands on his skin were firm, demanding, his fingers long and nimble, preparing him quickly, until he could do nothing but push back against the digits invading him, stroking just the right places. He wanted, and he wanted _now._

“Fuck, Flint, get the fuck on with it. Now.” Placing his palms against the desk’s surface, he braced, waited.

Flint wrapped his slick hand around his cock, coating it in the remaining oil. Placing the head of his cock against Vane’s entrance, he pushed slowly, trying to hold back, to let Vane adjust.

Vane wasn’t having it. As soon as he felt Flint push into him, he pushed back, forcing Flint to sink in to the hilt. Letting his head fall forward he smacked his forehead against the desk. “Fuck yeah,” he breathed. “Just like that. Fuck me like you hate me.”

Flint let Vane settle for a moment, revelling in the tightness surrounding him, before slowly starting to move. Vane felt tight, hot, oh-so-fucking-hot. Flint’s hands tightened on his hips, digging into skin and muscle, nails leaving indents on the verge of drawing blood. Soon beads of sweat appeared on searing hot skin, trickling along Vane’s spin, slick between them.

Flint felt tightness coiling around his spine, forcing him into arching his back, dropping his head back, mouth open in silent worship. The pressure was building at the base of his spine, coiling, amplifying, until tendrils of pure pleasure started traveling out from its core, trailing back up his spine, into the edges of his vision, black spaces and white stars. Close to his undoing, he let go of Vane’s hips, hands instead tangling in hair, pulling hard, pulling Vane up and back from the desk until he was almost upright, head pulled back and to the side, exposing the side of his neck. Biting down hard, Flint drove home one last time, spilling his seed deep within Vane.

Tasting blood in his mouth, he suddenly released Vane, as if burnt. “Fuck… I didn’t mea--”

Vane collapsed back against Flint, not giving a shit about him trying to apologise. ”Shut ut,” he groaned. ”Made me come again, you shit. Just like that.” He wiped a come-smeared hand on his hip.

“Oh.” It was all Flint could muster, his knees weak and arms straining to keep Vane on his feet. He let go, and they both collapsed to the floor again. He groaned again as the drop made him slip out of Vane’s tight arse.

After a few moments of lying in a tangled heap, breathing heavily, Vane moved. ”Need a smoke.” Digging through his clothing he produced one of his cigars, lit it, but stayed lying on the deck, stark naked, sweaty and sated. “Fuck, Flint. I could consider repeating that sometime.”

“Not a chance,” Flint countered, though the hint of mirth in his voice blunted his words.

“You know - once, an accident. Twice - a coincident. Three times is… Well, third time’s a charm.” _Or a habit - and he would see it become one. Because there was no better remedy..._ "I'll just have to make you see it."


End file.
